


Defying Orders

by Halfmoon95



Series: Ladra Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfmoon95/pseuds/Halfmoon95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking place sometime during ME2.</p><p>Shepard is used to people following her orders, but she's not entirely sure how to handle it when they don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defying Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarysande](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarysande/gifts).



> This story features my own Commander Shepard: Ladra, the vanguard, spacer, war hero. 
> 
> Also, I'd like to dedicate this to tarysande, as thanks for her writing advice and for just being awesome. While for her it may just have been answering a fan's question, it meant the world to me, and it seems only fitting that my first work on this site be a gift to the one who helped me find the courage to post it in the first place.

"Sir, I can't just - " 

The feed cuts out, leaving her standing in the now silent QEC.

_Damn it._

"Uh, Commander? Everything alright?"

Ladra Shepard take a few deep breaths, rubbing her sweaty palms against her pants to dry them in an effort to keep calm. "Everything's fine, Joker. Reroute to Alchera." 

" _Alchera,_  Commander?"

"Did I stutter, Flight Lieutenant?" 

Joker is quiet for a moment. Not the kind of quiet that means he's disconnected, but the kind where he's thinking before he speaks. A rare commodity. "Rerouting, ma'am. ETA about twelve hours."

Shepard pinch the bridge of her nose, the familiar pressure of a migraine throbbing behind her eyes. "Thanks, Joker." She make her rounds as quickly as possible, making all the polite inquiries about Jacob's family, listening to Mordin ramble his useless technical jargon that she can never fully understand. Garrus is calibrating, as usual, Miranda makes a Cerberus sales pitch, Jack drops a few curses, and Grunt regales her with more ways to dismember a turian, making her stomach churn. She fills in the pauses, smiles like they expect her to, acts the part of the completely-put-together-of-course-she's-not-losing-it-of-course-she's-fine-she's-always-fine Commander she always has to be.

 _Damn, I could use a drink._  Shepard is tempted to drop in on Kasumi, but these days she does little more than sleep and sift through her partner's memories and that's not something she want to intrude on.

Alchera. It just had to be Alchera. Because obviously no one else in the entire galaxy is capable of hunting down some dog tags. Obviously there is no one more suited to placing a memorial than the scorned Alliance officer. Obviously the first human Spectre has  _nothing_ better to do than play _errand-girl_ for _Hackett._

She stumbles into the mess hall, routing through the cupboards until she finds the coffee. It's a bitter just-add-water powdered mix that tastes like mud and really shouldn't be called coffee in the first place, but clutching the warm ceramic mug quiets her shaking hands. She stares into the dark brown liquid, willing herself to turn her mind off, to stop thinking, to do  _anything_ but think because thinking leads to remembering and remembering leads to dreaming and dreaming leads to scanning for minerals until her eyes burn.

 _Not enough air, never enough air, why isn't there any more air? I'm drowning. Each shuddering breath sends pain lancing through my chest. My back arches. Plug the hole, stop the leak, need air, not enough air. I'm drowning, oh God, I'm drowning. I'm drowning in pain and fear and blackness and stars and cold, it's so damn_ cold.

"You okay, Shepard?" The usually drawling voice bears no trace of its usual attitude. Instead the subharmonics are tinged with something she can't quite identify - concern, maybe?

She forces a smile that she knows is pathetic. "Right as rain, Garrus."

"Is that just a creative human saying for 'fine'?" His blue eyes study her. "Because I've been told 'fine' never really means 'fine'."

"Well, look who's an expert on humans now." She tries to make it sound amused, like banter, but even to her ears it comes out as bitter.

"Shepard."

"I-" She takes another deep, shuddering breath.  _Steady. Balance. Everything is balance._ "Sorry, Garrus. Just tired." She pushes her chair back from the table and deposits the coffee mug in the sink. "I'll try to catch a few hours' rest before the next mission."

She can feel the weight of his questioning gaze, watching her movements, searching for the tells. She can feel how much he wants to ask the questions they both know he's thinking. But he doesn't press. He knows not to press. He knows not to acknowledge the cracks in the armor he is so adept at seeing.

"Good, you need it," he finally says. "My head shot tally's leaving your's in the dust."

"Right," she scoffs. "I'm just giving you a head start, Vakarian." She brushes his arm with her own as she passes, a silent thanks. Then the elevator doors close between them and she hits the button for her cabin. "EDI?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Unless my ship is about to spontaneously combust, I don't want to be disturbed."

"Of course, Commander."

Ladra steps into her cabin, glancing at the fish -  _I bought that batch on the Citadel three days ago, how are they already dead? -_ as she passes the tank on her way to shut off whatever techno crap she had left blaring. Her uniform peels off easily, landing in a sweaty heap on the floor next to her bed. _  
_

"Sleep well, Shepard," EDI says as I crawl under the covers.

Shepard stares at the window above her bed.  _Not likely._

"Thanks, EDI."

^^^

Twelve hours later Ladra makes her way down to the shuttle bay, dark brown hair hanging loose at chin length and wearing the armor she had painted bright purple as a big middle finger both to Cerberus and the Alliance. EDI detected no signs of life at the crash site, but she clips her shot gun to her back anyway.  _Wouldn't do to die on this planet twice._ After checking and double checking and then triple checking the seals on her armor, she turns toward the shuttle, ready to leave.

Garrus leans against the Kodiak's doors, sniper rifle slung across his back. "Going somewhere?"

Shepard's hand clenches into a fist briefly before she forces her fingers to uncurl. "Hackett asked me to find a spot for the memorial. Also mentioned there might be some dog tags down there. Figured I could bring some closure to the families." 

"I'll go with you."

She shakes her head. "I'll be fine on my own."

"Commander-"

"EDI didn't detect any hostiles."

"Shepard."

"The dog tags all have tracers on them, so they won't be hard to find."

"Shepard."

"I can pilot the shuttle."

" _Ladra_ _."_  

She finally looks at him, catching his gaze only briefly before staring down at her boots. "I don't need help, Garrus."

He touches her shoulder, squeezing until she looks at him. They're quiet for a long moment, staring into each other's eyes. "At least let me fly you down there," he finally says. "I can't let you treat the Kodiak like you did that poor Mako."

The laugh that bubbles out surprises both of them. "Alright, Vakarian. You can come."

The two of them climb into the shuttle, Garrus settling into the pilot's seat while Shepard straps in next to him. The trip is short, taking only a couple of minutes to circle the crash site and find a landing zone that isn't completely covered in debris. She frees herself from the harness quickly, putting out a hand to stop Garrus from doing the same.

"Stay with the shuttle," she orders.

"But Shepard-"

"That's an  _order_ _,_ Vakarian," she snaps in her best I'm-not-joking-this-is-seriously-an-order voice.

He looks like he is about to argue but then thinks better of it. "Aye, ma'am."

Alchera's atmosphere is cold, being an ice planet. The temperature regulators in her armor should counteract that, but she still feels cold, the hairs on her arms standing on end. She hates the way her breathing echoes inside her helmet.

_Keep it together, Shep. You've faced worse._

Ladra moves slowly through the scattered wreckage of the  _Normandy SR-1,_ pausing by the few bits of the skeletal remains that are actually recognizable. The cockpit is mostly intact, along with parts of the CIC, and even the armory.  _Oh, Ash, I'm sorry._

Every once in a while her helmet pings and she follows the sound until she finds the dog tags. From what Shepard can tell there are twenty nearby. She keeps the freezing metal chains wrapped viselike around her gauntlets, purposefully avoiding reading the names lest the memories overwhelm her.

It's only when she finds her helmet that she starts to lose it.

At first Ladra is paralyzed at the crumpled and charred piece of black metal, even more so when she makes out the familiar red stripe running across its crown.  _Holy shit. Holy fucking_ shit.  _It's my helmet._ She can't seem to fully dismiss the childish notion that it's not just her helmet, that maybe her _head_ is in there, waiting to prove to the world that she is little more than a carbon-copy of the real Commander Shepard.

Swallowing down the lump that has started to form in her throat, Shepard marches determinedly across the crunching ice, stooping to sweep up the piece of metal. It's only when she tastes the salt that she realizes she's crying. Sinking to her knees, she wraps her arms tightly around herself and rocks back and forth slowly.

_Get it together, marine._

Deep breaths, in, out, in, out. 

"Shepard?"

_See? You're not alone. You're losing it and you have an audience. Pull yourself together._

"Yeah?"

It's only when she sees the gloved, three-fingered hand in front of her face that she realizes he's standing right there.

Ladra takes the proffered hand and lets him haul her to her feet, dusting off imaginary dirt from the legs of her armor. "I thought I told you to stay in the shuttle."

He shrugs. "Technically, I don't answer to you."

Her eyebrows draw up automatically, even though he can't see the expression through the visor on her helmet. "Thought turians followed orders?"

"I've never been a very good turian anyway."

Despite her anxiety, the statement pulls a small smile out of Ladra. 

"You okay, Commander?"

She opens her mouth, the lie already carefully prepared, before closing it again. If anyone deserves her honesty it's Garrus. "No. No, I'm really not. But I will be. Just have to get off this damned planet first."

He holds up his other hand. "Found these on my way to get you. Last three, right?"

"Right." She picks up the old helmet at her feet, dropping the dog tags inside. "Let's get out of here."

They're almost back when they come across the hulking piece of metal half buried in a glacier.

"Shepard, is that-"

"The Mako." 

"Of all the things..." Garrus shakes his head slowly.

"Told you it was a tank," Ladra says with a grin.

"No tank can climb up mountains at a  _ninety degree angle."_  

"This one could."

"Tanks also shouldn't be able to jump over missiles."

"It had rocket boosters."

His laugh is so full and rumbling and  _surprising_ that she can't help but join in and pretty soon they're both slumped against the shuttle, clutching their sides. When they finally quiet, they sit leaning against the Kodiak, staring at the golden memorial. She'd set it up in front of the mostly intact hull,  _Normandy_ still clearly legible.

"Some good memories on that bird," Garrus murmurs.

"Yeah." Her eyes prickle and she wonders not for the first time when crying became part of her daily routine. Instinctively she reaches up to wipe the tears only to find her hand blocked by the face mask. "Damn it."

"Shepard?"

"I'm sorry." Ladra's voice is barely more than a whisper. "I shouldn't be falling apart like this. I just-" She takes another deep, shuddering breath, unable to continue as her shoulders shake with barely suppressed sobs. "Damn it, Garrus, what if Kaidan's right? What if Cerberus is using me, controlling me? God, what if - what if I'm  _not_ me?" Blue waves of biotics start to flicker across her arms. "I could be a freaking  _clone._ How the hell am I supposed to convince people I'm the same Commander Shepard if I can't even convince myself of it?"

There is a long silence, filled only by Garrus' talon tapping a rhythm on the barrel of his sniper rifle. "Shepard, listen. I can't even begin to pretend I understand what Cerberus did to you. But as far as I'm concerned?" He covers her hand with his. "You're you. There's no doubt in my mind."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're the only one crazy enough to take this job."

Her hand turns up, almost of its own accord, and their fingers twine together. It's different and unfamiliar, but it's also warm and . . .  _right._  

"And Shepard, I want you to know. . ." He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's okay, you know? It's okay for you to not be okay, and it's okay for you to tell me about it, and having these doubts? Having these emotions? It doesn't make you crazy. It just makes you human."

Ladra jumps to her feet and pulls him up after her, sliding open the Kodiak's door. "C'mon. Let's get out of here."

They make the flight back to the  _Normandy_ in silence and stand shoulder to shoulder in the armory as they check weapons and pack up armor. 

"Hey Garrus?" Shepard calls just as he turns toward the elevator. "Thanks."

His mandibles flick in acknowledgement. 

_He still defied a direct order._

But she's starting to think that maybe orders aren't everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note, this is the first time I've ever posted my writing in any sort of public place. I am definitely open to feedback! Any suggestions or comments or tips are more than welcome!


End file.
